


Twenty Three Skidoo

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Empathy, Empathy, Put Yourself in the Place of Me [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Empath Stiles Stilinski, I don't even know what's happening here will someone please save me from myself, I'm not adding an underage warning because there's no explicit sexual content, Implied Sexual Content, Loss of virginity off screen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, background Lydia/Jackson, break ups, but please please read the following tag, for one section toward the end, it's real violent guys, minor Stiles/Danny - Freeform, minor Stiles/Heather, minor Stiles/Jackson, okay minor relationships first:, so if that's going to be a problem for you then for god's sake don't click on it, this entire fic deals with Peter's reaction to being romantically attracted to an underage Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 00:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: Peter realized he was in love with a 14 year old on Sunday.By Tuesday, he was in London.





	Twenty Three Skidoo

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, remember when I wrote that angsty part where Stiles got kidnapped and everything was real dramatic and at the end I said "It's cool guys, things are gonna settle down now."
> 
> Well it turns out I LIED.

Peter realized he was in love with a 14 year old on Sunday.

By Tuesday, he was in London.

He still wasn’t sure if the action made him brave or a coward- or maybe it was just the only choice.

His last conversation with his mother still rang in his mind:

_“You don’t have to do this, you know. You could stay.”_

_“How can I do that? He’s fourteen._ Fourteen. _I shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred yards of him.”_

_“It’s not like you’re a predator, Peter- you said yourself that you’ve been completely uninterested in sex-”_

_“How long can I expect it to stay that way? I wasn’t exactly celibate before!”_

_“You say that as if feeling attraction automatically means you would force him into something-”_

_“He’s an_ empath. _I literally could not hide it. I can’t- if I start feeling physically attracted to him-” God, Peter felt sick, “he’s going to know. Are you telling me that wouldn’t affect him? That he wouldn’t feel disgusted with me, or worse, guilty."_

_His mother was silent at that._

_Peter hung his head in his hands, clutching at his hair._

_“How can I expect it not to interfere with a normal adolescence for him? How is he going to be able to date like a normal teen with me hovering over him jealously for the next three and a half years? Because I would. I would hover. Violently. Do you know what I almost did to that Mahealani kid when I smelled him on Stiles?”_

_“... probably something violent.”_

_“Something very violent. To a fourteen year old human kid. All because he did what fourteen year old kids do, and kissed another fourteen year old kid. Fourteen year old kids don’t kiss twenty six year old men. I’m not going to be Mary Kay Le-fucking-tourneau.”_

_His mother sighed._

_“Are you at least going to tell him you’re leaving?”_

_Peter rubbed his hands down his face._

_“Not until I’m already gone.” He finished scrubbing at his face and looked at his mom, eyes red and tired. “I have to go. At the very least I need some distance to sort out my thoughts.” He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about traveling for a while anyway. There’s a rumored isolated European community that supposedly has a small concentration of empaths… maybe I can put together a study for Stiles as an apology.”_

_“An apology for loving him?”_

_“And every other mistake I’m bound to make.”_

_His mother sat back with folded arms._

_“Don’t pout, Peter. Get some space if you need to, gather your thoughts, but don’t pout and don’t forget that Stiles loves you too. He’s not in love with you right now, but he does love you.” She sniffed a little. “And don’t forget that you have to finish taking over as Spymaster sometime- I wanna retire.”_  

His phone brought him back to the present.

Stiles’ ringtone hung in the air. He flicked over to answer.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“I hope you switched to an unlimited international plan, because I’m going to be yelling at you for at LEAST three hours,” came Stiles’ irate voice over the line.

Peter smiled, his heart already aching.

“I’m waiting at the luggage carousel, feel free to start,” he said.

Beneath his rant about the definition and cultural purpose of the word _goodbye_ (“You didn’t even have to say it in English! Adiós, tchüss, zàijiàn, au revoir, hwyl fawr-“) Peter could hear the real hurt in Stiles’ voice.

He planted his ass on a bench so he wouldn’t turn around and immediately get on a plane back home. This is why he’d waited until he was already gone: If Stiles asked him to come back, even once, he would do it.

Somehow, he knew that Stiles wouldn’t. Not unless he truly needed Peter. But finding a way to keep him from leaving in the first place? Stiles could have done that in his sleep, and Peter would have folded immediately.

Eventually silence fell on the other side of the line.

“I’m sorry Stiles,” Peter said, sounding too deeply sincere even to his own ears.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles said, clearly frustrated and sad. “What’s so urgent? It’s not about the pack, otherwise Talia would be more stressed. When are you coming back?"

Peter braced himself.

“I don’t have a return ticket.”

There was silence for a moment. Peter heard footsteps over the line, and then a door closing. When Stiles spoke again, his voice was low and serious.

“Peter, is someone threatening you? Is there blackmail or something? I can-”

Peter let out a broken little laugh

“No, Stiles. I’m here because I need to be. I can’t get into the details of why, but I’m safe.” 

More silence.

“I did upgrade to unlimited international though- you can text me and call me as much as you want.”

“I’m gonna call you in the middle of the night. On purpose,” Stiles finally said.

“I’ll hang up and call back when you’re sleeping,” Peter replied, relieved.

“Justice never sleeps.”

“Whiny adolescents do.”

_“Whiny-!!”_

An hour later, Stiles finally said goodbye. Peter’s bag was the only one left on the carousel. Going around and around, constantly moving but going nowhere, and completely alone.

Peter tried not to read into it.

* * *

Stiles was having a rough week.

It had started off as a good week. A great week, even.

Danny had given him his first kiss; it was awkward and weird, but also exciting, and wasn’t that how first kisses were supposed to be?

Then Peter had up and fucking _disappeared._ Stiles was still confused about it- he was pretty sure the only person who really knew what was going on, besides Peter himself, was Savage Grandma- but she wasn’t talking.

With words, anyway.

For the past few days, there was a small, extra wave of sadness when she looked at Stiles, but it didn’t seem exactly to be _because_ of him. More… _for_ him, which didn’t explain anything at all. Maybe she was worried about Stiles needing Peter’s empathy dampening abilities, which, okay, Stiles was a little bummed to lose. But he was more upset about not having Peter around to talk to.

In any case, Stiles tried to put it out of his mind. He was busy psyching himself up for his very first date _ever._ And with Danny! Danny was objectively attractive, anyone would be lucky to get a date with Danny.

But when Friday night rolled around, it turned out that Danny’s attractiveness was a little… _too_ objective, and not personal enough.

They went see a movie together and it felt… normal. Like two buddies hanging out.

They went for a walk holding hands, and it felt like holding Scott’s hand.

They kissed again, and it was just as awkward and weird as the first time, only without the excitement of being the first….

Danny pulled back from the kiss.

“This isn’t romantic for you, is it?”

Stiles shrugged helplessly.

“Not really, no. It just feels… friendshippy.”

Danny’s emotions read as a confirmation. He wasn’t really into it either. He sighed.

“Yeah. You wanna go home?”

Stiles shrugged again. “You do have your first practice in the morning; you might want to get some extra sleep for that.”

Danny nodded in agreement, and they headed home. Danny was still a complete gentleman, and walked Stiles to the Hales door before giving him a hug goodnight. As he turned around to walk back to the bus stop, Stiles yelled out “I might put out on a second date if you pay for my ticket to the sequel!” and Danny stuck up a middle finger without turning around.

Stiles smiled, assured that everything would be normal on Monday.

He walked inside, and Cora pounced on him immediately.

“Was it good? Is he great at making out? How was the movie? Are you in love? Is this going to be the Big Gay Epic Love Story that I compare myself to for the rest of my life??” she asked eagerly, leaning in to sniff around him with a frown. “You hardly smell like him at all! Did you even kiss again?” she demanded indignantly.

Stiles submitted to her handling, knowing it would be faster to just let her get it out of her system.

“I have no idea if he’s good at making out, because we didn’t. It was ok. I’m not in love. You shouldn’t compare yourself to others, Talia has at least three books on why that’s bad. I don’t smell like him because all we did was hold hands and kiss one more time before we decided that neither of us are really into romancing the other,” he recited patiently.

“Didn’t go so hot?” Grandma’s head was peeking around the corner of the entryway. “More fish in the sea, you’re too good for him, yadda yadda. Call Peter back, he’s been driving me crazy.”

Stiles pulled out his phone, which he’d silenced for the movie, and saw four missed texts from Peter.

**_Peter 8:13 p.m.  
_** _I always know when I’ve entered French speaking Belgium because old people and children snicker at my name._

**_Peter 8:26 p.m.  
_** _I can’t believe you’re turning down the opportunity for a fart joke, are you sick?_

**_Peter 8:27 p.m.  
_** _Stiles, are you sick? Are you okay?_

**_Peter 8:31 p.m.  
_** _Nevermind, Mom said you’re on a date with the lacrosse kid. Have fun._

Stiles immediately called him back.

“Okay A, why were you awake at five in the morning and B, are you trying to make me believe that only old people and children were laughing at you being named after the verb for fart? Please Peter, they’re _all_ laughing, it’s just that the children and old people don’t care if you know.”

“Good morning to you too, it’s a little early for you to be home from your date. Is he an early to bed, early to rise type? Is your boyfriend secretly a sixty-five year old?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, and remembered with a pang that Peter couldn’t see it.

“He’s not my boyfriend. The date ended early because we weren’t feeling it, romance-wise.” He quickly changed the subject. “Now, why were you awake at five-unholy-o’clock in the morning?”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Peter said. His voice sounded sincere but strange- Stiles couldn’t identify the tone. For the dozenth time that week, he wished that Peter were in front of him so he could try to read his emotions.

Peter continued, “I was up because 5:30 was the earliest train to Brussels. I got a little sidetracked, though.”

Stiles grabbed Cora and dragged her with him into the living room, collapsing on the couch with her while still holding the phone. He needed a good snuggle, and she’d want to hear the conversation with Peter anyway.

“I was most of the way to the train when I ran into- literally- Christopher Argent, who was chasing an imp-”

On the other side of the world, Chris motioned to Peter that he needed to cut off the call, because they’d arrived. Peter ignored him.

“-so now I’m helping him go after it,” he finished.

Stiles’ voice was thinner through the phone, losing some of the richness of his tone over the distance.

...And it was thoughts exactly like that that kept Peter from going back home. He brought a hand up to rub his forehead.

“Send me a picture once you catch it, I wanna see,” Stiles said.

“Peter!” Chris said sharply.

“Is that him? Do you need to go?” Stiles asked.

“YES,” Chris leaned into Peter’s space and yelled into the phone.

“Rude!” Peter said, frowning at Christopher. “I am offering my help free of charge-”

“Oh my God Peter, you promised to help, go help. We can talk later,” said Stiles.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Peter said. He smirked at the shocked silence over the line. “What, you think I don’t know when you’re rolling your eyes? Please,” he scoffed. “I’ll talk to you soon, Stiles.”

With that he hung up, only to see Chris staring at him.

“What?” he said defensively.

“Not a damn thing,” Chris said, holding up his hands. “Let’s go catch that little asshole.”

Back in Beacon Hills, Cora and Stiles sat snuggled on the couch.

“Sorry Danny’s not your soulmate,” Cora said quietly.

Stiles snorted.

“I didn’t expect him to be my soulmate… but I guess I kinda thought my first date would go a little different, you know? It doesn’t really matter, though.”

Cora nodded. “Yeah. Grandma’s right. You’ll find someone.”

Stiles leaned his cheek on her head and once again thanked whoever was listening that he’d broken the plate in that café two and half years ago.

* * *

April rolled around, and with it, Stiles’ birthday. He’d dropped hints that a visit from Peter was what he really wanted to celebrate his 15th year, but Peter had facetimed him again from Brest, France that morning.

“Heh, Brest.”

“I’m so glad you’re maturing with your years,” Peter said blandly.

“TITTIES,” Stiles responded, gleeful.

 _“Excuse me!”_ Stiles heard Victoria Argent’s dismayed tone from behind Peter and snickered.

It had become somewhat of an implied game after Peter decided to stay with the Argent family. If Stiles was on screen or speakerphone and Victoria was within hearing distance, he would speak a little more… freely.

It hadn’t started on purpose- Stiles was repeating a silly limerick about a three legged man from the dock. He hadn’t even reached the end before Victoria’s indignant voice interrupted him.

Honestly, Stiles probably wouldn’t have continued with his shit-stirring if it weren’t for the fact that he _knew_ Peter had a problem with Victoria. He never said anything directly, but- Stiles knew Peter.

Once, Stiles had been sure he’d seen her in the background of a video call, and yelled “QUEEF”- only to hear “SHART” yelled back at him. That’s how he’d been introduced to Allison Argent.

Allison always poked her head over Peter’s shoulder if she was around while they were facetiming. It wasn’t long before she stole Stiles’ number out of Peter’s phone so she could text him whenever she wanted.

Allison was actually probably the only Argent that Stiles didn’t resent the hell out of. The family name by itself was enough to make him nauseated in the beginning- memories of his time with Gerard were like a shadow following every mention.

However, his problem with Chris lay directly in jealousy. Stiles still didn’t know exactly why Peter had left so suddenly, but once he got to Europe he’d agreed to stay with Chris and help him with the recent surge in minor demon activity; that first imp had been one of many. Stiles couldn’t help thinking that maybe if Chris hadn’t asked for Peter’s help, he might have come home by now.

His dislike of Victoria was built out of several things, but the biggest was the look she always had on her face when it was directed at Peter. Peter never said anything explicitly, but Stiles knew him well enough to read between the lines, in the margins, and on the back. Victoria didn’t like Peter, which meant Stiles didn’t like her.

Allison, however, was sweet, funny, and smart. And despite being born into the world’s oldest hunting family, didn’t know _anything_ about the supernatural. It made Stiles feel weirdly protective of her, like an older brother.

“It’s Stiles’ birthday mom,” Allison said in the background. “He gets one free ‘titties’ and two free dirty puns before the naughty language police come arrest him.” She ignored her mom’s pinched lips and sweetly kissed her on the cheek before coming forward to peer over Peter’s shoulder. “Happy birthday Stiles!”

“Thanks Allison!”

Peter turned the phone, cutting her face out of the picture. “It’s after four here, don’t you have to start getting ready for school?”

“I don’t think birthday boys have school, do they?” Stiles asked innocently.

Peter rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I’m not calling you out from school all the way from France, Stiles. It wouldn’t work anyway; I have no doubt I’m still on some ‘suspicion list’ around the high school.”

Stiles gasped dramatically. _“Peter Hale_ did you get up to _shenanigans_ in high school? Why haven’t we talked about this?”

“Because I’m not allowed, and this is a direct quote from Talia, to ‘give you any more ideas than you’re already crawling with.’”

“Not even for my birthday?”

“Not even for your birthday. But… if I were to mention that there’s a direct vent from the Chemistry lab to the janitor’s room next to it… well, that’s just sharing information, not ideas.”

Stiles grinned. “You’re the best, Peter. I love your dumb French butt.” He watched Peter smile and bring a hand up to his chest, rubbing there.

“My butt is neither French nor dumb, but it is very loveable. Go get ready for school.”

Stiles snorted. “Bye.”

* * *

Lydia had very sweetly offered to throw Stiles a 15th birthday party at her house.

Well, she didn’t so much offer, as just announce that she was doing it.

And it actually wasn’t very sweet either- she’d said she wanted to throw a party that weekend anyway so it might as well be for his birthday.

But the point was that Lydia was throwing a party, it was ostensibly for his birthday, and there was a chance that Stiles would get at least one birthday kiss from someone. Possibly even a birthday makeout!

Hope springs eternal, alright?

So when he showed up, party already in full swing, and he immediately had to go outside to get away from the overwhelming emotions of everyone in the place, Stiles was more than a little bummed.

He _wanted_ to go in, he truly did, but _God_ the emotions of drunk teenagers were the _worst._

He was sitting in a pool chair, staring glumly into the house, when a girl came out and wandered over to him.

“Hey,” she said. “Aren’t you the birthday boy? Isn’t that your party happening in there?”

Stiles shrugged. “I think Lydia just wanted a reason to empty her parents liquor cabinet, to be honest.”

The girl snorted out an inelegant laugh that made Stiles smile. When she sat down next to him and gave him a good once over, he was surprised to feel a wave of attraction and interest. He turned to face her and they started to talk.

It turned out that her name was Heather, and they actually knew each other- they’d gone to elementary school together.

It turned out that she was pretty funny.

It turned out that Stiles liked talking to her.

And it turned out that he didn’t even need to go into the party to have a birthday makeout.

The next day, Stiles agreed to help clean up the party he’d never actually attended as long as he could pester Lydia for date ideas. Even with a hangover, no one could plan like Lydia.

* * *

Peter had been in France for six months.

He’d been living with the Argents for six months.

He hated it.

It wasn’t a problem with the Argent _family_ , per se- Christopher had been the one to warn them about Gerard, and Peter was still grateful for that. Six months of working with him to handle the never ending scourge of tiny, irritating demons that kept appearing had been enough to give Peter a real measure of the man. He was firm in his handling of the Hunter’s code, but fair, even if Peter did think he was an idiot for hiding everything from his daughter.

The problem was Victoria.

And the fact that he was in France at all, not with Stiles in Beacon Hills, but that was a topic for another time.

Victoria stank of disgust and fear every time Peter entered a room. For six months he’d lived with that. At first, he assumed it was just ingrained prejudice. She’d been raised in a conservative hunting family, perhaps she just needed time to get used to seeing a werewolf around.

But it hadn’t gotten better.

She started doing things like “accidentally” leaving wolfsbane residue on things Peter often touched, like the coffee maker or the kitchen chair he usually used.

When he’d volunteered to clean up after a nest of hobgoblins so Chris could go get a stab wound stitched up, she’d “forgotten” to leave the door unlocked for him and he’d had to sleep in the shed. Oh, and she’s the reason he didn’t have a key in the first place.

“He’s only here _temporarily_ ,” she’d emphasized when Chris brought it up. “Making more keys lessens our security. We have plenty of reasons to need watertight security, Christopher.”

It was a thousand microaggressions when she had no reason to be aggressive; Peter had saved Christopher’s back at least three times during his stay. One would think she’d be grateful.

One might, but Peter didn’t, because his suspicions had always served him well. He wasn’t about to start ignoring them now.

So he continued to stay with the Argent family in France- helping out with the demon problem, but also working away at the knot that was Victoria Argent.

* * *

“-and that’s why virginity is a meaningless social construct,” Cora finished her impromptu lecture while the five of them lay on the lawn in the July sun. “No man’s penis is important enough to fundamentally change anything about me.” She thoughtfully took a sip of her lemonade. “I’ve seen some girl’s hands that might though.”

Lydia choked and coughed. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, getting her breathing under control. “Swallowed wrong.”

“See, and lesbians don’t have to worry about that either,” Cora threw in, completely blasé.

Stiles and Heather laughed their asses off while Scott looked torn on whether he should run and hide or laugh with them.

Later that night Stiles walked Heather home, and at her doorstep she coyly asked, “How do you feel about coming in to explore a meaningless social construct?”

And that’s how Stiles lost his virginity.

Cora punched him on the shoulder in congratulations when he got home.

“It was my sexy, sexy lecture wasn’t it?”

“I think that lecture had more effect on Lydia than anyone else, Cora,” Stiles grinned.

Cora scoffed.  “Lydia has a boyfriend.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not looking at your haaaands,” he singsonged as he went to take a shower.

He probably shouldn’t have said anything; if he hadn’t been so giddy he wouldn’t have. It would be way too easy for him to start constantly fiddling with other people’s relationships, trying to match up people who were clearly infatuated with each other.

Stiles was convinced nothing but misery lay that way, though. People had to work things out for themselves, otherwise he felt like he was stunting their communication growth.

Both Lydia and Cora had significant amounts of communication growth ahead of them.

He shrugged, swinging around in the shower. The girls would figure each other out eventually.

As he put on his pajamas he reached out for his phone, excited to call Peter and tell him about his new development, but he suddenly paused.

That would be… rude.

He frowned to himself.

Right? Was the “rude” the word to use here?

Not because it was a “kiss and tell”; Cora already knew. He was going to tell Scott first thing in the morning. He had zero doubt that Heather was talking to her best friend about it right at this very moment.

He couldn’t tell Peter because it was _Peter._ It made his chest feel achy. Then again, thinking about Peter made his chest feel achy pretty often. Stiles still didn’t know when he was coming back.

He put his phone back on his nightstand to charge and lay back in his bed. For a moment he thought about Heather and her soft curves; her enthusiastic sounds and warm hands, the pleasure he’d felt from her when he managed to do something right.

Soon though, his mind drifted to snarky comments and dry tones. V-necks and blue eyes and deep affection. Quiet. The profound, peaceful kind of quiet he hadn’t had in months.

He fell asleep thinking of being cocooned in the peace of Peter.

* * *

“So did Stiles decide to sign up for the art class?” Grandma asked over the phone.

Peter huffed. “You’re the one who’s living with him, shouldn’t you know?”

“I’m living with him but he still talks to you more often. I think he probably talks to you more often than anyone, even that girlfriend of his,” Grandma tutted.

Peter’s gut clenched the way it always did when Stiles’ girlfriend came up. He breathed through his nose and reminded himself that this was exactly what he’d wanted when he left.

“Yes, he decided to register for the painting class,” he answered, clipped. Softer, he added, “I’m mailing him some supplies. The art store here had some recommendations for brushes and paper he might not be able to get in the states. I didn’t tell him- I want it to be a surprise, but it should be there a few days before school starts. Will you keep an eye out for me?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just come home.”

“Mother-”

“Don’t you ‘mother’ me, I’m only ‘mother’ when you think I’m being unreasonable. I am _not_ being unreasonable,” Savage Grandma said, frustrated. “You’ve been away for almost _eight months,_ Peter. One more month and you will have missed an entire baby’s worth of time.”

“An entire- who is measuring time by how long it takes to finish a pregnancy?” Peter asked incredulously

“My point is that I don’t think you even have a goal in your distance,” Grandma said, irritated.

Peter’s thoughts halted.

“You’re in love with Stiles. Is your goal to just stay away from him forever? Despite how much you know that would hurt both him and you?”

Peter struggled against the impulse to just hang up and get away from the conversation.

“Is your goal to stop being in love with him?” she continued.

He huffed a humorless laugh.

“I know exactly how this sounds, but I’m not sure that’s possible,” he said, voice breaking. Because he’d tried. He honestly had. But even Stiles’ faults seemed to fit perfectly with Peter. It seemed as if he was irreversibly in love with him- almost as if it were a destiny that refused to be denied. “But I have to stay away at least until he’s eighteen.”

“So you’re just going to stay away for _three years?”_ Grandma questioned incredulously. “Without talking to him about it? Do you have any idea how abandoned he’s going to feel when he realizes you’re not coming back sooner? And that you won’t even give him a reason why?”

Peter closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing.

He heard a click.

He stopped breathing.

“If you’d just-”

 _“Shh!”_ he shushed his mom severely. Quiet reigned for a moment, and then-

_Click_

“Mom, I have to go.” Peter hung up abruptly and stood up, stalking over to his door and then down the hall.

He barged into the Argent office without knocking, to see Victoria standing there, laptop open, recording going. She smiled.

“A fifteen year old, Peter? How very predatory of you.”

Peter growled, taking a step forward.

“I don’t think so,” she said calmly. “I think you’re going to turn around, pack up, and leave immediately. Otherwise Chris might find out about your little… indiscretion. If you’ve already got eyes for one fifteen year old, who’s to say you won’t do the same with another? Or is it only fifteen year old _boys?”_

Peter snarled.

“My ‘indiscretion’ hasn’t hurt anyone but myself. What about yours?” he asked aggressively. Victoria stiffened. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that coven, Vicky.”

She sneered at the nickname. “There are several covens around Brest, all of which are valuable sources of information.”

“But you’ve been spending more time with a specific one, haven’t you? What have they been giving you in exchange for all the virgin blood? The virgin blood they’ve been using to try to summon Lilith? It’s a good thing they keep fucking up and needing more, although the accidental minor demons certainly aren’t without their dangers-”

“Shut up,” Victoria hissed. “Shut up.”

“- and I’m fairly sure the Hunter Council would have something to say about drugging people and taking their blood without consent-”

“I have a recorded conversation where you admit that you, a twenty seven year old man, are in love with a _fifteen_ year old boy,” she cut across him. “What proof do you have?”

Peter clenched his teeth. He had nothing. Nothing concrete anyway.

“You’ll pack up tonight,” she said smugly. “In the morning you’ll say goodbye. And you’ll be gone by ten a.m. Do you understand?”

Peter’s claws extended against his will and dug into the meat of his palm.

“Christopher’s not an idiot. He’s going to figure it out,” Peter said through his clenched teeth.

“You let me worry about that,” she said in a superior tone. “Don’t you need to buy yourself a train ticket?”

There was nothing Peter hated more than feeling helpless. He already had one problem he was unable to fix; the moon herself would burn before Peter added another.

In the morning he announced that the winds of change had taken him. Chris was surprised, but thanked him for the help he’d provided.

Allison gave him a hug and said she’d miss him, but not too much because Stiles never shut up about him.

Victoria simpered and offered to pack a lunch for him to eat on the train.

“Oh, no thank you Vicky. The sulfur aftertaste never sits quite well with me,” Peter responded charmingly.

An hour later, on the way to Poland, Peter dropped an anonymous email to the Hunter Council of Northern France.

He supposed he’d see what came of that, and pursue other alleys if needed.

* * *

Stiles’ Sophomore painting class was his solace. And God, did he need solace.

Heather was going to break up with him. He knew it was coming. She’d started feeling interest in a guy on her soccer team, which hadn’t bothered Stiles at first. Everyone feels _interest._ Hell, when Stiles saw the guy take off his jersey after a game, he felt _interest_ too. When it became excitement and defined arousal that he sensed from her, he was a little more reserved in his judgement.

Two days ago, when she started feeling nervous and full of dread around Stiles, is when he knew.

It shouldn’t matter so much to him- he’d known from the beginning that it wasn’t a forever-type of relationship. He’d just wanted the _experience_ of it. He liked Heather, he truly did, but she wasn’t- she wasn’t.

And truly, it was a small thing compared to what bothered Stiles the most: Isaac Lahey.

The other Sophomore boy constantly exuded misery, pain, and anxiety. It was a very specific mix that Stiles was familiar with- he’d felt it from a couple of other kids in elementary school before his dad had interfered.

Isaac was being physically abused.

Stiles’ first tactic had been to go to his father again, and tell him. John did a drop by, pretending to ask about some other “suspicious activity” in the neighborhood, and spoke privately with Isaac- but it got him nowhere.

Young children are more likely to talk about the abuse they’re experiencing. The system hasn’t failed them yet- they haven’t been left to deal with the fallout of an accusation that led nowhere.

Isaac was well past that.

So Stiles sat in his class and painted. He painted with sharp, stabbing lines. Violent strokes, fierce jabs, and impassioned sweeps. He thought about how helpless he felt to do anything about anything as he mixed paint, and when he finally stood back and saw that specific shade of eye-blue paired with open space around the center, Stiles almost put his foot through it.

Art class was his _solace,_ damn it.

It _had_ to be his solace because Peter _wasn’t there,_ and Stiles still didn’t know _why_ or when he was fucking _coming back_ because Peter wouldn’t _tell him,_ and apparently his subconscious wanted to yell about it.

Stiles cleaned up his paints angrily, but carefully. Thanksgiving break started the next day, and he didn’t want to come back to crusty brushes.

Stiles exited the art room just in time to walk into the middle of a screaming match between Jackson and Lydia in the hall.

“-if _you_ spent less time _scheming_ for the future and more time ACTUALLY talking with me, we wouldn’t be doing this!”

“If you would talk about something other than your workout routine and daddy issues, maybe I’d actually want to talk to you!”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then why are we even together?!”

“I GUESS WE’RE NOT ANYMORE!” And with that, Lydia stormed off.

Stiles looked awkwardly at Jackson. He hadn’t spent as much time with him as he had with Lydia- Stiles was pretty sure that if their friend group came down to a custody arrangement, he’d be going with her.

Jackson let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his hair just as Stiles’ phone chimed. Eager for a reason to not look at Jackson, he pulled it out of his pocket.

**_Heather 1:06 p.m.  
_** _I want to break up.  
_ _I’m so sorry to do this over text, but I just can’t hold it in anymore.  
_ _Pls call me after school so we can talk._

Even though he’d been expecting it, it still stung.

“Over a fucking _text,”_ he said to himself in disbelief.

“What, Stilinski?” Jackson said aggressively, sneering. “Your girlfriend dump you over text?”

Stiles looked straight at him. “Yeah, actually. Heather just told me she wants to break up.” Jackson paled. He obviously hadn’t actually expected that. “Honestly, I don’t know if text or public screaming match is worse.”

Jackson huffed out an angry little chuckle, looking away.

“I’m pretty sure not breaking up at all is the only way to win that one,” he said. He clenched his jaw and glanced over at Stiles “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here Stilinski.”

Stiles looked at the back of Jackson’s head, shocked at the invitation- or order, more like. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _it’s not like I wanted to stay at school anyway._

They wound up skipping last period and going to get what Stiles was calling “dumpee milkshakes” and Jackson was calling “Shut up, Stiles.”

They’d taken their drinks out to a picnic table by a creek that was secluded, but near enough to the high school so they would hear when the final bell rang.

“I can’t believe she’s just throwing it all away,” Jackson said as he stabbed his straw into the milkshake angrily while he sat on the bench. “We’ve been together almost three years. Three years!”

“Yeah, man, that’s a long time,” Stiles said, perched on the table with his feet on the bench next to Jackson.

“It is!”

“Maybe too long.”

Jackson’s face was almost comically betrayed. “Too long?? How can a relationship be _too long?”_ he asked in disbelief.

Stiles shrugged. “Once someone no longer wants to be in the relationship, it’s lasted too long. Do you even really want to _be_ in a relationship, or do you just want to _have_ a relationship?”

Stiles knew his question hit at the core of things. He’d felt it between Lydia and Jackson for a while, but it hadn’t been his place to say anything. Somehow, they’d managed relationship complacency before even reaching legal driving age.

Stiles cringed, as the feedback from Jackson felt more disheartened than he had thought possible.

“But hey,” he encouraged. “You get to try new things now! You can be single for a while, or date other girls, hell maybe give dudes a tr-yyyy,” Stiles stuttered over the last word as Jackson’s attitude turned speculative and zeroed in on him.

“Heather basically already dumped you right?” Jackson said, smoothly standing up and coming to stand between Stiles’ knees.

“... yeah,” Stiles said, and that was his first mistake.

“So you’re single now too,” Jackson clarified.

“... yeah.” Second mistake.

“And you think I’m hot.”

“... yeah.” Third mistake.

Half an hour later the bell rang just as they both buttoned up their pants.

“You know this doesn’t mean anything, right?” Jackson said bluntly.

“You know I’m going to tell Lydia about this as soon as I see her, right?” Stiles countered.

Jackson sighed. “She’s not going to care. You’re right; we probably should have broken up a while ago.” He took one last look at Stiles. “Don’t call me if you want to snuggle.”

Stiles snorted. Jackson was an asshole, but he was an honest asshole. He watched him walk away before startling when his phone vibrated with a call.

He pulled it out, fully expecting to see Heather’s name, but it was Peter.

Stiles pursed his lips. He ached to go home and tell Peter about everything. About his inability to help Isaac, about getting dumped by his first girlfriend, about what he already suspected had been a mistake with Jackson.

But Peter wasn’t home.

Peter wouldn’t even tell him why he’d left, almost 11 months later.

Stiles sent the call to voicemail and trudged out to the school to find Cora and Scott.

* * *

Peter’s rental car crunched along the snow as he made his way to the small hamlet outside of Gdynia known only as “The Settlement”. He was only able to get there because he’d been told of it- apparently wards around the town were playing a giant game of hide-n-seek with anyone who wasn’t already in the know.

It had taken _months_ of backroom talks, favors exchanged, and a few carefully applied threats for Peter to get the information. He’d had plenty of time with which to work… he’d been spending less of it on the phone lately.

A few old buildings and cottages appeared on the horizon, coming closer and closer. Peter could see the whole width of The Settlement as he approached.

He parked in front of the single eatery on the main road, ignoring the looks he was getting from everyone on the street. A bell rang above his head as he walked in, heading to the counter.

“I’ve been told to come here and ask for a Miss Nowak,” he said with his most charming smile and severely broken Polish. “I’ve been sent by Mr. Finnegan.”

The café owner looked at him impassively and replied in English, “Miss Nowak comes in at two most days. You can wait for her here, but don’t make me listen to that garbage you clearly consider to be my native language.”

Peter, offended, went to sit at a table without ordering anything.

Half an hour later when Miss Nowak walked in, her wrinkled eyes went straight to Peter. Then in a strong Boston accent, she looked back at the counter and said “Bring me a huge cup of milky Irish, Jakub. I have a feeling I’ll be talking with Chucklefuck over there for a while.”

Before he could even open his mouth to be insulted, Miss Nowak was slowly lowering her old bones into the chair across from him.

“So you’re a Mute, huh?” she asked, groaning as she settled in.

His curiosity immediately overcame his offense. “Mute? What’s that?”

She looked at him exasperatedly. “Dear lord, you don’t know a damn thing, do you?”

Peter clenched his teeth to hold back a diatribe about knowing how to speak politely to strangers, and said, “My quest to become less ignorant would, in fact, be the reason I’m here. With you. You purportedly can assist with that.” Peter raised his eyebrow in challenge.

The old woman snorted, a wry smile on her face.

“Get out your damn notebook or whatever then. Apparently you have a lot to learn.”

* * *

_Peter calling_

_Peter calling_

Stiles hit the side button on his phone.

“-got teamed up with that guy- Isaiah? No, Isaac! Isaac Lahey, so we’re gonna be working together for the entire semester, but will you still grammar check our shit before we turn it in?” Scott asked, looking at Stiles as they sat at the table in the Hale’s kitchen while he shoveled salad in his mouth.

“You’re working with Isaac Lahey?” Stiles had only been half paying attention, but that caught his ear immediately.

“Yeah, dude, that’s what I just said.”

Ignoring his best friend’s messy eating habits, Stiles said in a meaningful tone, “Can you, like, just… keep an eye on him?”

Scott paused his rabbit routine. “... what kind of an eye? Because I know you’re single now, but if anyone’s going to get a chance with him, I should be-”

“No, no- wait, do you _like_ Isaac?” Stiles asked, delighted.

Scott blushed. “No! I barely know his name! But… like, I can appreciate those cheekbones. I don’t know, man.”

Stiles shook his head, trying to pull himself back on track; this was important. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant like… keep an eye out for bruises. Keep an eye on his dad?”

Scott’s face went from pink to pale in an instant. “Oh, no.”

Stiles sighed. “My dad’s already been by to talk to them, but nothing happened. So like, you’re going to be spending a lot of time together for the English project, right? Just- watch? Please?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Yeah, dude, for sure,” Scott said, patting him on the shoulder before going back to his salad.

Stiles gave Scott a grateful smile before screwing up his face when a huge piece of lettuce flopped out of the side of Scott’s mouth.

“What’s with the enormous salad anyway? And it’s like ninety percent spinach, where’s the tomatoes and shit?” he asked with his eyebrow raised and his nose wrinkled.

Scott, finally managing to finish swallowing before talking, said “I’ve gotta get ready for lacrosse tryouts- I’m gonna make first string with Cora and Jackson and Danny this year!”

Stiles patted him consolingly on the back. “Buddy, I don’t think any amount of salad is going to get rid of your asthma.”

Scott rolled his eyes as he took another huge bite, and talked through it just to spite Stiles.

“-Uck ‘ou.”

Stiles laughed hard. For the first time in a few weeks, he realized.

“Come on dude. Finish your salad and we can go for a run. We’ll have you so ready for tryouts, Finstock won’t know what hit him.”

* * *

Miss Nowak and her housemate Zeyna sipped their tea and serenely watched Peter stare at the wall in stunned silence.

“How long has he been like this?” Zeyna asked out loud, her slight Senegalese accent lilting along the words. “Should we do something?”

“Nah,” Miss Nowak said. “He’ll snap out of it eventually. Just needs a few minutes to realize just how far his head had been up his ass. All the way up to his intestines, probably.”

“Hm,” she nodded. “Do you think he’ll bring his empath back here to live?”

Miss Nowak snorted loudly. “Him? He’s been running away from that kid for over a year now. He’s bald ass terrified. Besides, he and the kid both have family in the States. Even if he ever gets around to growing a pair and actually talking to him, and then the kid fuckin’ forgives him for his dumbassery, then they’ll probably stay there.”

Peter suddenly snapped out of it.

“Zenya did you know about this- this _soulmate_ bullshit?” he asked indignantly.

“Soulmate is such a strange word,” Zenya mused, taking another sip of tea. “What is a soulmate except someone with whom you are most compatible? This is not different from that, only on an empathic plane." 

“It’s _different_ when it’s causing me to have _horrifically inappropriate feelings!”_ Peter practically yelled.

“It’s only horrific to you, idiot,” Miss Nowak said. “You wouldn’t find a single other person in the settlement who would be horrified by it. Besides, the connection doesn’t always manifest as romantic feelings. Zenya and I have a platonic bond.”

Zenya nodded in agreement.

Peter looked ill. “So it’s still just me. I have feelings for Stiles just because I’m disgu- Ow!” Peter yelped, rubbing his shin.

Miss Nowak pulled her cane back to herself after whacking Peter, scowling at him. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about the connection that way. Nothing about it is disgusting, do you hear? It’s a gift to both the Empath and the Mute, to have each other.” She took a disgruntled, obnoxiously loud sip of her tea.

“The form the connection takes depends on the people involved, and shapes itself to what they need. If you love Stiles, it’s because Stiles needs to be loved. When you’re both ready, he’ll love you back. Just calm the hell down.”

Peter stared at her, open mouthed.

“It’s true, Peter,” Zenya said a little more gently. “I’ve never known the bond between an empath and a mute to be anything other than what they needed; what was healthiest for them. It takes work, no doubt, just like any other relationship. Mostly the work of communication. That is what you should worry about, if you must worry.”

Peter’s mouth snapped shut. “Those are big words from you two- your bond is _platonic._ You didn’t meet until Zenya was _twenty five._ Stiles is _fifteen.”_ He was angry. He’d been talking to Miss Nowak, and occasionally Zenya for over a month. He’d tried to keep his cards close to his chest, but you can’t get information without giving information.

And this was how they repaid his honesty- by trying to tell him that what he felt for Stiles was _healthy._

Miss Nowak sighed explosively. “Jesus Christ kid, go talk to the Bushwick’s next door. Jan met Steve when he was six years old and she was twelve. They’ll tell you exactly what we’re telling you: their relationship was never more or less than what it needed to be. She didn’t want to fuck him when she was twenty and he was fourteen,” she watched as Peter cringed away from even the mention of it. “They didn’t even date until she was almost thirty. But they had each other. They had the comfort and peace of each other. That’s what you _should_ be doing for Stiles now.”

Peter sat back, mind in turmoil. He just couldn’t believe it. He snatched up his notebook and stormed out of the kitchen to go next door.

Zenya watched him go with a small frown.

“What do you think it will take for him to accept it?”

Miss Nowak shrugged. “Swift kick in the ass?”

* * *

“Stiles.”

Lydia sat down primly across from him at the Chemistry table, looking him straight in the eye. Stiles had to suppress the urge to play dead.

“... yes?”

“Do you think Cora would be happy to go to the spring formal with me?”

Stiles started shaking his head before she was even done talking. “Nope. No. Not getting involved, you two have to work-”

“We can talk about this or we can talk about Jackson’s dick, seeing as we’ve both-”

“YES Cora would absolutely love to go to spring formal with you,” Stiles said frantically. “She’ll be surprised as hell and probably act like she doesn’t care but she’ll be thrilled and oh my god I thought we were never going to talk about it? Can we please go back to never talking about it?”

Lydia looked at him closely. _“You personally_ know that she’d be happy about it?” she clarified.

Stiles paused.

“Yes,” he answered after a beat. “I know she’d be happy about it.”

“Alright.” She turned around and went back to her own table without another word.

Later in the hall, Stiles cornered Scott.

“Dude, I think Lydia might have figured it out,” he whispered urgently.

“Figured what out?” Scott asked blankly.

Stiles wildly gestured to his whole self.

“What?” Scott asked incredulously. “How could she have figured that out?”

“I don’t know!! But she was asking if I personally knew that Cora would be happy to go to the spring formal with her!!”

“Oh!” Scott’s eyes brightened. “They’re gonna go together? I was thinking about asking Isaac, do you think we could double?”

Stiles stared at Scott.

“You are missing the fucking point!” he whispered furiously.

“Calm down, buddy. She knows you live with Cora, she’s basically your sister. Asking you about what you think she’d like seems pretty normal,” Scott said as he shouldered his backpack up.

Stiles bit his lip. Scott was right, but something about the way she’d said it… he tried to shake off his worry.

“So you’re going to ask Isaac?” Stiles said, forcing himself to move on.

Scott’s ears turned pink. “Yeah? I mean, I _think_ he’s been kind of flirting back?”

Stiles grinned. “Way to go dude, he totally wants to go with you.”

Scott looked at him speculatively. “... you’re sure?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, you’re all a bunch of insecure nerds- _yes,_ I’m sure.”

* * *

Peter stared at the folder of documents on his laptop.

He’d gotten a lot of information during his time at The Settlement. Information about the different types of empaths, common problems, projective versus sensitive empaths and the crossover between- a lot of information.

The only thing he couldn’t reconcile was the relationship between Empath and Mute.

It was technically just lore- but it was well documented lore. Most of the relationships in The Settlement were made up of a Mute and their Empath. Some platonic, some romantic- all deeply important to the ones involved.

Everyone he’d talked to agreed with Miss Nowak and Zenya. Relationships of any kind take effort, but the type of relationship always fit their needs perfectly.

Peter thought again of how he didn’t actually feel sexual desire for Stiles, but how his fear that he _would_ had driven him away. He thought of what romantic love involved: Evident displays of affection, something Stiles always needed- to see the proof rather than simply feel it. Romantic love involved care through touch, something Stiles craved. Romantic love involved mental support, an absolute necessity for Stiles and something Peter had already been providing since the beginning.

What if he wasn’t a monster?

… but what if he became one?

* * *

Isaac got ready for the spring formal at the Hale’s house, ostensibly because he needed to borrow Stiles’ dress shirt.

Everyone knew it was really because he couldn’t tell his dad he was going to the dance with a guy.

Stiles watched him fiddle with the buttons on the cuffs, struggling to get the right ones done up with his left hand.

“For God’s sake, let me-” Stiles shouldered his way into Isaac’s space and took the wrist in his hand. He sensed a flare of pain from Isaac, and spotted a deep purple bruise under the cuff. Stiles stilled, gentling his hold.

Ever so quietly, he whispered, “We could help, you know. You just have to say. We want to help.” He finished buttoning it and looked up into Isaac’s tense eyes.

“There’s nothing to help,” Isaac muttered, looking away.

“You’re not nothing, Isaac,” Stiles said, reluctantly giving up the topic as he felt Isaac’s desperation to get away from it. He managed to hang up the corner of his mouth in something like a smile. “Scott definitely thinks you’re something.”

Isaac rolled his eyes but his cheeks were tinged pink, excitement and happiness sinking back into his empathic colors as he tried to forget about everything else for the night.

An hour later, Stiles put on his best Mom Game as he and Talia took approximately five thousand pictures of Scott and Isaac and Cora and Lydia. He even had to wipe away a proud tear when Scott only accidentally stuck Isaac with the boutonniere pin once.

He sent them all off among protests that he was still welcome to join the group, claiming that he was going to get the TV all to himself for once, and watch as much Gilmore Girls as he wanted. Instead, he wound up alone on his bed, tossing his phone in the air and catching it.

Toss. Catch.

Toss. Catch.

Danny would be there tonight with his boyfriend. They made a good couple.

Toss. Catch.

Heather was probably there with Soccer Guy too. Stiles couldn’t dig up any jealousy over the fact.

Toss. Catch.

Toss. Catch.

Dial.

“Oh, look who remembered he has a phone,” Peter answered with a yawn. “And also forgot the nine hour time difference.”

“Are you ever coming home?” Stiles asked, ignoring the greeting.

Silence.

“Because if you’re not coming home-” Stiles cut off with a choke.

“Of course I’m coming home someday Stiles,” Peter hurried to say. “Of course I am-”

“When?” Stiles demanded.

“... it’s probably going to be another two years.”

Stiles felt the air leave his body. He struggled to breathe.

 _“Why?_ Why did you leave? Why won’t you come home?” The words burst forward like a broken dam. “What did you run away from? Why aren’t we enough for you to come back?” His jaw clamped shut, knowing he shouldn’t have asked the last question- not when he didn’t want the answer.

“Stiles-” Peter’s voice broke. “It’s not that you’re not enough. You’re more than enough-”

 _“Then why did you leave?”_ Stiles was beginning to cry, and he hated himself a little bit for it. Peter didn’t care enough to even be here, and Stiles was wasting tears over him.

“I had to sweetheart, I’m sorry, I had to-”

“Why? Why won’t you tell me?”

“I can’t-”

_“Why?”_

“Because of you.”

Stiles stopped breathing entirely, the air punched out of him.

“Not- not like you’re thinking, okay? Never like that, I just- Stiles, breathe. Stiles! _Breathe!”_

Stiles finally took a deep shaky breath.

“I had to leave, because I didn’t want to interfere with your life, and I _would have_ if I had stayed. You need- you need to be an adolescent. You need-”

The old familiar loudness was encroaching on Stiles- he tried to shut it out, but it was like trying to stop the rain from coming.

“Why do I need to be an adolescent without you?” he asked hollowly.

Peter was silent.

“You know what, fine, I don’t know why I’m even asking when you don’t care-”

“Because I realized I love you,” Peter burst out, completely unable to stomach the idea of Stiles thinking he didn’t care. “I’m _in_ love with you. Because it’s horrifically, and in fact _criminally_ inappropriate, and if I had stayed-”

 _“Ex-_ fucking- _scuse me?”_ Stiles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You left because you realized you were _in love_ with me?”

“Because I _am_ in love with you.” Peter’s voice was desperate, honesty finally being pulled out by his need for Stiles to understand that it wasn’t any lacking on his part.

“You think I didn’t fucking _know that?”_ Stiles screeched.

Peter was stunned.

“My entire _life_ is emotion, Peter!” Stiles yelled. “It was my first language, my first sense! I knew you loved me before I started high school! Oh my _God.”_

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I assumed you knew! They’re _your_ emotions!”

Peter blew out two entire lungs worth of air. “Then you should understand why I had to leave!”

“NO! I don’t!”

“I don’t want to be a fucking pedophile!” Peter yelled back.

A fire lit in Stiles’ stomach.

“Okay, first, it would be ephebophile because I’m fifteen, in fact sixteen next week. Second, calling it a paraphilia implies that this is a sexual desire for you with a bunch of different teenagers when it’s actually just _me_ and there’s no sex involved _,_ so that’s not accurate either, and third, you weren’t going to to do a damn thing about it. You were never going to hold me back from doing what I wanted, because A, that’s not what someone who genuinely loves another does, trust me, and B, I wouldn’t have fucking _let you.”_

Stiles was breathing hard by now, and absolutely furious. He held onto it tightly, allowing it to drown out the other emotions trying to barrel into his head.

“I _knew_ you loved me Peter, and I _loved you back._ I wasn’t in love with you- I don’t have the experience to know that. Why do you think I agreed to that date with Danny? Why the fuck do you think I dated Heather? You were always my final destination, Peter, but I couldn’t get there without having proof that what I felt for you want different. You were right about one thing: I do need an adolescence. I _need_ that experience. There’s no reason it ever had to be without you."

“Fuck you Peter. I understand needing time to process emotions, but keeping it a secret? That was goddamn _selfish.”_

He hung up.

The phone immediately buzzed and he silenced it. The screen lit up again and again for hours, but he continued to ignore it, his own turmoil fighting with the conflicting emotions of the distant neighbors. He wanted to pull his hair out, wanted to shove things into his ears until he couldn’t hear anything, even though the noise wasn’t actually sonic.

The phone lit up one more time after having been silent for a while, and Stiles snapped.

“What?!” he yelled into the phone. “Wh-”

“Stiles!” came Scott’s frantic voice over the line. “Get help and come to Isaac’s house! His dad-” Stiles heard a slam and the line went dead.

Stiles stood frozen for half a second, and then screamed “TALIA!”

* * *

Talia, Joseph, and Stiles pulled up to the house. To Stiles it was dark and quiet, but Talia and Joseph wolfed out immediately and rushed into the house.

The empathic atmosphere would have gagged Stiles even if he hadn’t already been oversensitive. The burning hate and anger flared as soon as he stepped through the door Talia had broken. Stiles followed the trail of fear into the living room, finding Talia in a standoff with Isaac’s father.

Joseph was crouched over Isaac, who lay motionless in the corner, bloody, bruised, and unconscious. _God,_ Stiles thought, _please be just unconscious._ Mr. Lahey had Scott in another corner with a knife held to his throat, staring down the Hales.

“You come any closer and he goes next!” Mr. Lahey yelled, twitchy and clearly frantic. Whatever had happened tonight, it hadn’t been planned. He was confused, terrified, and full of impotent rage, as all men who seek to control with violence are. “What the hell are you monsters?!”

“Give us the boys and you never have to find out,” Talia said. Stiles sensed the lie; Mr. Lahey would have intimate knowledge of exactly what a werewolf could do before the night was over.

“No. No. You- you leave. You leave or I’ll kill him!” Mr. Lahey gripped the knife tighter, cutting deeper into Scott’s neck.

Talia snapped forward, almost faster than Stiles could see- but not fast enough.

Mr. Lahey’s knife jerked across Scott’s throat, a spray of blood coating everything in front of them, and jerked backwards as Talia’s claws swiped at his gut. Scott fell to the floor, choking violently, and Talia followed him down, doing her best to close the wound.

Mr. Lahey stumbled back, one hand to his bloody stomach, viscera slipping through. Stiles watched the entire scene, horrified.

 _“Nonono,”_ Talia was saying, panicked. “He’s losing blood too fast, he’s not going to make it unless I bite him.”

“Then do it fast,” Joseph said tersely. “Because Isaac has an internal bleed somewhere and he’s not going to last long either.”

Stiles continued to play witness as Talia kept one hand gripped on Scott’s throat and used the other to pull up his shirt and bite his side without ceremony.

Joseph quickly moved to take over the hold of the throat wound while Talia moved to Isaac to repeat the procedure-

Mr. Lahey careened around the walls of the living room, getting closer to the exit as the Hales were occupied. Stiles snapped a hand around his wrist just he tried to brush past.

Stiles felt his pain. He felt his terror. Stiles felt everything he had _._

“You killed Scott,” Stiles said numbly.

Mr. Lahey’s eyes grew impossibly wider with fear.

It wasn’t enough.

Everything Stiles felt, and he felt _everything,_ wasn’t enough. He pushed more into him. He pushed, and pushed, and pushed, feeling the rapid increase of Mr. Lahey’s heart rate through his wrist. _It wasn’t enough._ More, more more- blood gushed from the wound in his stomach and onto the floor. His breathing became faster and faster until it suspended entirely.

He collapsed, and Stiles let go of his wrist. The blood flow slowed, and then stopped. So did everything else about him.

Mr. Lahey was dead.

“Stiles!” Joseph yelled. “Call Grandma and tell her to go home and get the room in the basement ready, the nice one. And tell her to put another bed down there. Then call Bill and tell him we need two rides and-” he glanced down at Mr. Lahey, “cleanup.”

Dazed, Stiles did as he asked. After, he stumbled over to Scott.

“Is it taking?” he asked, voice distant and trembling. “Is he-”

“The bleeding has slowed,” Joseph said gently. “But we won’t really know for a while yet. We should be able to move him soon, and it’ll be easier to watch for the transformation at the house.”

Stiles nodded, still silent. He could feel every inch of Joseph’s worry and fear, but he could also feel his hope.

He held on tightly to Joseph’s hope, because he had none of his own.

* * *

Stiles sat curled up on a folding chair in the basement room. 

The “nice one,” as Joseph had requested.

This one had a bed (two beds right now), a closet, and a mini-fridge. Stiles wasn’t entirely clear on its original purpose, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Couldn’t really bring himself to feel anything, actually, except for what those around him were feeling.

He’d like to say he’d forgotten what it felt like, since it had been so long since he’d had an episode, but the truth was that he remembered just fine. The loudness, the inescapable _feeling-_

Melissa sat at her son’s bedside, taking his pulse every few minutes. Stiles had handed her his backup inhaler a while ago, and she kept turning it in her hands when she wasn’t touching Scott.

Isaac lay in the other bed, looking marginally better than Scott. Slightly more color, significantly less dried blood on his skin- but still just as unconscious.

Eventually, Melissa stood up. “Come on Stiles, we should go eat and stretch out a little.”

“No thanks.”

“Stiles-”

“I can’t. I really truly can’t, Melissa. If I go up there, it’s going to be even _louder-”_ he choked off and shook his head.

She gave him a long look.

“Okay. Alright.”

She ran a hand through his hair as she left the room, and his body felt colder once she was gone.

Feeling, emotion, sentiment, mental state-

Loud, loud, _loud-_

He heard a door slam upstairs and felt a wave of abrupt surprise jolt through the house. Hurried footsteps across the floor, through the basement entryway, down the stairs-

Peter burst into the room, glancing over at the two beds in shock.

“What happened?” he asked, shaken.

“Isaac’s dad,” Stiles said without emotion.

Peter moved toward him, clearly intending to scoop him up and comfort him, before he suddenly remembered his reason for hurrying home in the first place.

Stiles regarded him silently for a moment, and then held out his arms.

Peter darted forward and picked him up, holding on tightly.

For the first time in a year and four months, Stiles felt true peace.

“I’m still so fucking mad at you,” he whispered.

“I know,” Peter whispered back. “We can talk about it when you’re ready. We can talk about everything.”

Stiles buried his face in Peter’s neck and listened to the quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> So Stiles maybe killed a guy?? Idk we'll talk about it later. 
> 
> Okay, fyi, I think Stiles and Peter are both wrong and right about whether or not Peter needed to leave. The biggest problem, though, was Peter's unwillingness to talk about it. 
> 
> Man there is some SHIT to tie up next fic, amirite?? Holy God, this kept getting longer and longer, and I hated how much I kept fiddling with it, and now I'm just fucking done looking at it. Whatever I fucked up here will just have to get fixed in the next part lmao. Everyone who's said "I don't usually read WIPs but this is an exception" dude I am SO SORRY.


End file.
